Saving Grace

He also looked a little dazed at the moment!

Jessie: darling, muddle-headed Jessie. Grace smiled fondly at the elderly lady; what had she been doing with the poor man while he waited for them to come home?

‘What are we having for dinner, Grace?’ Jessie looked at her anxiously.

Ah, so that was what they had been discussing. Or, at least, one of the things, Grace correctly read from Jordan's rueful expression. She knew herself how erratic Jessie's conversation could be, but she was a dear, none the less. And she did have a passion for her food. And why not, when her only child, a son, only ever came to see her with the intention of trying to talk her into going into a home? Food didn't hurt her. Grace smiled at the elderly lady affectionately. ‘I put a casserole in the oven before I went to collect Tim from school,’ she assured her.

Jessie's face instantly brightened. ‘You're such a warm, considerate girl, Grace. There you are, Mr Gregory—–'

‘Jordan,’ he put in abruptly.

Grace looked at him concernedly; he really was very tense. And extremely attractive, those dark blue eyes mesmerising, she had to admit. But also filled with that bewildered pain and disillusionment …

‘Oh, thank you, Jordan.’ Jessie clasped his hand warmly. ‘And you must call me Jessie,’ she invited with a coy smile. ‘And how lovely for you, now that you've at last arrived, that you should get here in time for dinner. Grace is such a wonderful cook,’ she added effusively.

‘Chicken casserole is hardly cordon bleu, Jessie,’ Grace said drily. ‘I'm sure Mr—Jordan,’ she amended at his sharp-eyed look, ‘is used to much more exciting fare—–'

‘How long before dinner is ready, Grace?’ Timothy cut in, his eyes bright.

She eyed her little brother suspiciously; he wasn't usually concerned with punctuality where meals were concerned. ‘Half an hour or so …’ she told him questioningly.

He turned excitedly to the tall man now standing beside the fireplace. ‘Would you take me for a drive in your car before dinner?'

‘Timothy!’ she gasped incredulously, looking awkwardly across the room at Jordan.

Her brother looked slightly rebellious. ‘But I've never been in a Jag, and—–'

‘Jaguar, Timothy,’ she corrected quietly, still a little taken aback at this uncharacteristic show of bad manners; obviously the lure of the thought of a drive in a Jaguar superseded everything she had tried to teach him about politeness! ‘And I'm sure Jordan would much rather go up to his room and unpack before dinner.’ She turned to the man as he watched them so intently. ‘The room has been aired, even though you are two days later than you expected to be in your original letter—–'

‘I—–'

‘But, of course, I realise you weren't a hundred per cent sure about the twenty-fifth as your day of arrival.’ She smiled to take away any rebuke he might have read into her earlier words. ‘I'm not that strict about arrival dates,’ she said, and shook her head. ‘And I don't exactly have people beating a path to the door this time of year!’ Or the rest of the year really, although they did pick up the occasional summer visitor looking for solitude rather than luxurious accommodation; the latter she certainly couldn't offer here! But Jordan was a ‘winter visitor’ in search of solitude.

Jordan looked at her wordlessly for several seconds, blue gaze piercing, flickering away with a vulnerability that was vaguely endearing. He seemed undecided. Which Grace guessed was an unfamiliar emotion to him. He had aroused her curiosity about him in spite of herself.

‘Oh, please take me for a drive in your car!’ Timothy was the one to break the silence, gazing imploringly up at Jordan. ‘I've never been in a Jaguar before,’ he added, eyes wide with anticipation, and Grace could already hear the tales he would tell his schoolfriends about the adventure in the morning.

Jordan was looking almost wistfully at Timothy now, Grace thought, her own frown thoughtful. He was an enigma, this man Jordan. And she felt an intense curiosity to know more about him.

‘Did you enjoy your snowball fight earlier?’ He was talking to Timothy now, his tone gentle.

Grace looked at him sharply, wondering how he could possibly know—she hadn't realised anyone had watched them earlier, but how else could this man know about the snowball fight if he hadn't actually seen them have it?

Timothy gave the grin of the victor. ‘Grace isn't bad at snowballing, for a girl,’ he shrugged.

‘Timothy Brown, you only won at all because you played dirty and put one down my neck!’ she rebuked good-naturedly.

Jordan watched her intently. ‘You run this house alone, Miss Brown?'

‘Grace,’ she corrected as automatically as he had earlier, knowing that what he was really asking was where her parents were, that she should have the responsibility of Timothy plus the running of a big house like this one. From the intentness of his gaze she had a feeling he had intended disarming her with the unexpectedness of the question, knew herself matched with a sharp intelligence. ‘I manage,’ she dismissed, her gaze steady.

Jordan met that gaze. ‘I'm sure you do,’ he acknowledged quietly.

She straightened. ‘And right now I had better take off the rest of these damp things and finish cooking dinner,’ she said brightly, knowing that although the two of them knew little about each other they at least understood each other; Grace was here ‘managing’ this house because circumstances had dictated that she do so, and because they had she did it with all the love and care that she could. Jordan was here for reasons of his own, but those reasons owed just as much to circumstances as her own.

Timothy was still looking up at Jordan with hopefully expectant eyes. Grace knew that look only too well, had succumbed to the pleading there too many times herself not to know it. And she could see Jordan wasn't unmoved by the pleading over-big eyes either.

‘If you would like to bring your things in from the car I'll show you up to your room …?’ she politely prompted Jordan, removing her scarf.

He was looking at her again now, indecision in the dark blue depths of his eyes. She smiled at him, knowing instinctively that the vulnerability she sensed in him wasn't a part of himself he felt able to cope with.

Grace doubted he would be able to cope with her response to that either; he didn't look as if he very often had women he was barely acquainted with throw their arms around him because they felt an overwhelming need to comfort him in whatever pain it was he was suffering!

There was an answering flicker of warmth in the dark blue depths of his eyes, although he barely smiled in response to hers. She wondered what he would look like if he ever laughed. Younger, was her instant guess. He had an air about him of someone much older than the early thirties she guessed him to be. Too much responsibility at too young an age, she surmised, wondering if she had a similar air herself.

She didn't think so, because she wasn't unhappy. And this man obviously was. Very unhappy.

‘I haven't brought much with me,’ he finally answered in measured tones. ‘But I'll bring it in after I've taken Tim for his drive,’ he added decisively.

Any reply Grace might have made to this remark was drowned out by Timothy's whoop of delight and his cries for them to go right now, this very second. Just in case Jordan should change his mind, Grace guessed with affection.

Jordan stood across the room with Timothy's hand clinging determinedly to his much larger one, awkwardly so, as if the trust in him this young child showed came as a shock. ‘Is that all right with you?’ He looked at Grace enquiringly.

‘Of course,’ she nodded, smiling at her brother as he beamed his excitement up at her. ‘Behave yourself,’ she warned indulgently.

He replied in the affirmative, but in truth it was obvious he barely heard her remark, his thoughts already transfixed on driving in the back seat of a Jaguar. Compared to the old Mini Grace drove him about in he would feel like royalty, the leather interior of the car parked outside being plush to say the least.

She watched them walk to the door together, the tall dark-haired man, and the small red-haired boy who was the centre of her world.

She had known from the day her father died so suddenly and left Timothy in her sole care that she would always do everything she could to ensure that her brother's world would be as secure as she could make it for him. As she stood and watched Jordan and Timothy walk out to the car side by side she had a vague feeling of disquiet, as if her world would never be quite the same again from this moment on …

CHAPTER TWO

WHAT the hell was he doing?

He should have told them exactly who he was the moment he realised the mistake there had been over identity. But something had held him back from doing that. Jordan deliberately pushed the image of dark grey eyes surrounded by long dark lashes to the back of his mind.

He was here, in Grace Brown's home—a Grace Brown who had turned out to be far from the elderly spinster he had expected to meet—under a false identity, and false pretences.

He looked about the room he had been given for his stay—or rather, J. Gregory had been given! It was as worn and faded as the rest of the house, but it was clean and comfortable, and somehow homely and welcoming.

There was another flowered carpet on the floor, green this time, cream-coloured paper on the walls, and Jordan hadn't seen a candlewick bedspread like the one on the double bed that took up most of the room for years, the convenience of duvets not seeming to have entered this old-fashioned household.

The bathroom was down the hallway, something he definitely wasn't used to, and yet he felt at home here already. Rhea and Raff were going to think he had taken leave of his senses, but he intended staying on here.

He would have to telephone them, of course, otherwise they were likely to send out a search-party after a couple of days. And, as he was here as a ‘Mr Gregory', the last thing he wanted was for them to do that.

Mr J. Gregory …

The other man had obviously changed his mind about coming here after all, and hadn't bothered to let Grace Brown know that. At least, Jordan hoped that was what had happened. He was going to look worse than ridiculous if the real Mr Gregory should turn up after all. Especially as he would then have to tell them who he really was.

Oh, hell! He should leave here now, he knew he should. And yet somehow he couldn't do it, felt at peace for the first time in a very long time. Over two years, in fact.

Two years … Since he had discovered the man whom he had always believed to be his father wasn't his father after all.

It had been the merest chance that his sister Rhea had met Raff Quinlan in the first place. Fate, Rhea called it.

And the secrets that had emerged after that meeting had shattered Jordan's world forever.

Rhea was married to Raff now, and they had a beautiful daughter Diana, with Rhea's red hair and Raff's serious charm, but for the last two years Jordan had been avoiding facing the confusion and pain he felt about even his own identity. He wasn't really Jordan Somerville-Smythe, had no right to that name, and yet, if he wasn't Jordan Somerville-Smythe, who was he?

He wasn't sure any more. The Lake District, this house, seemed a strange place to begin to find the answer to that, and yet this was the first time he had felt truly relaxed in years. He couldn't leave now even if he wanted to.

Besides, he excused his own actions, his curiosity had been well and truly aroused now. The boy, Tim, had talked incessantly when Jordan had taken him for the promised drive in his car, but he hadn't seemed to find the fact that he lived in this huge house with his sister, Jessie Amery, and the elusive Nick—the other man had still been absent when Jordan had returned with Tim a short time ago—interesting enough to go into in great detail.

It was a very strange household for a young woman of the nineteen or twenty Jordan had guessed Grace to be. A girl of those tender years should be out enjoying herself with other people her age, but Grace didn't give the impression she in the least resented the responsibilities she had.

In fact, she had a calmness and serenity that Jordan envied …

* * *

What a strange mixture of contradictions her new boarder was, Grace mused as she set the dinner out on the big tray ready to take upstairs to the dining-room—where hopefully Timothy would have laid the table for their meal by now.

Jordan looked a stern, uncompromising man, as if he wouldn't suffer fools gladly, and yet he had given in to the whim of a child good-naturedly enough. Timothy hadn't yet been able to stop his bubbling excitement over being driven about in a Jaguar, his face aglow still with the pleasure of it.

When she had shown Jordan into his room a short time ago she had been quite able to see its clean shabbiness through his eyes, knew from the very look of him that this couldn't be the class of place he was used to staying in.

And yet she also knew, instinctively, that he didn't want to leave.

She only hoped his presence here wasn't going to be too disruptive to the rest of the household, wondered, curiously, what he and Nick were going to make of each other.

Jessie was already seated at the dining-room table when Grace entered with the laden tray, and Grace knew it wasn't that the elderly lady was particularly greedy, or even that she would eat a lot of the meal anyway—her appetite was birdlike—it was just that mealtimes were the most sociable times of the day for Jessie, who spent a lot of her time alone. Nick kept to his room a lot, Timothy was at school during the day, and Grace had her part-time job at the library to go to every morning during the week and had work to catch up on when she was at home. Breakfast and dinner were really the only times all of them were together.

She smiled at Jessie. ‘Ready at la—–’ She broke off with a start as Jordan stepped out of the shadow of the bay-window across the room, her smile returning as she realised who it was.

He still wore the trousers to the suit he had been wearing earlier, and the cream shirt, but he had pulled on an Aran sweater over the latter, emphasising the fitness of his body, and darkening his skin.

From the small overnight bag he had finally brought in with him Grace had a feeling the Aran jumper was the only other clothing he had brought with him, giving the impression he hadn't intended staying long. The thought made her frown.

‘Is something wrong?'

She looked up to find Jordan watching her intently, doing her best to shake off the sudden heaviness that seemed to have descended over her mood. It was ridiculous, she didn't even know this man, so why should the thought of his leaving have any effect on her?

Because he was another of her lame ducks, her father would have pointed out affectionately. As a child she had always been bringing home birds and animals that had been abandoned or injured, taking care of them until they could fend for themselves.

It had been a trait her father had believed she had carried on into adulthood, pointing out Jessie as a prime example of her compassion. And maybe she was, Jessie's son Peter making no secret of where he thought she should live, but Jordan hardly fitted into the same category. Although perhaps he did in a different way; she didn't think she was wrong about the emotional pain she glimpsed in his eyes at unguarded moments.

‘No, nothing,’ she answered him brightly, straightening. ‘I'm glad you seem to be finding your way about the house so easily.’ She had a feeling there was very little that this man wasn't completely in control of in his life!

He shrugged, as if to say he had found no difficulty with the problem. As, indeed, he probably hadn't, Grace acknowledged ruefully.

She frowned as she set the food dishes down the centre of the table so that they might each help themselves to what they wanted of the casserole and vegetables. ‘Timothy seems to have missed laying a place—–'

‘Nick won't be coming down to dinner,’ Jessie told her disappointedly—Nick being a favourite with her, she had tidied her hair and powdered her cheeks before coming down for the meal.

Grace couldn't say she was surprised at Nick's decision, had half guessed what would happen when he had made himself scarce on Jordan's arrival.

She put one of the warmed plates back on the tray, starting to take the lids off the steaming bowls of food. ‘Timothy?’ she called as she began, absently, to spoon food on to the plate she had put back on the tray.

‘I'm here, Grace.’ He came bouncing into the room with his usual energy.

‘Hands washed?’ She arched dark brows teasingly.

‘Yep,’ he grinned.

She glanced up with a conspiratorial smile for the other adults in the room, noticing as she did so that Jordan was watching her as she put the chicken casserole and accompanying vegetables on the plate. ‘For Nick,’ she explained awkwardly, instantly wondering at this need she felt to explain herself to this man. ‘He—often eats alone,’ she added dismissively. ‘Although I don't make a habit of providing food in the rooms,’ she was quick to add, not wanting there to be two of them she ran up and down the stairs after. Nick was different.

Jordan nodded non-committally. ‘Then I should take it up while it's hot.'

For some reason she felt irritated as she carried the tray up the stairs to Nick's room. It hadn't been so much what Jordan had said as the way he had said it. A man accustomed to giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed unquestioningly.

As she had just done!

Jordan was feeling more and more curious about the man Nick. Timothy had mentioned the other man a couple of times when they had gone for their drive before dinner—nothing specific, but it was significant enough, it seemed to Jordan, that the other man should have been mentioned at all.

And now Grace was running up the stairs with the other man's meal on a tray because he had decided he ‘wasn't coming down to dinner'.

It was the idea of Grace having to do such menial tasks that Jordan found he didn't like. Which was ridiculous; he was probably the reason the elderly man had disappeared into his bedroom in the first place!

He gave Grace a rueful smile when she came back into the room to have her own dinner, although even as he did so he realised she couldn't possibly know the stupidity of his thoughts. The smile felt unfamiliar, and he realised it was the first relaxed smile he had given anyone for months. By the widening of Grace's calm grey eyes that was an easily recognisable fact!

‘Could I use your telephone after the meal?’ He decided to change the subject altogether, knowing he would have to telephone Rhea and Raff tonight or they would worry he hadn't arrived safely. He had only brought an overnight case with him—a fact he was sure Grace had noticed earlier!—and so the other couple would be expecting him back some time tomorrow at the latest. He would have to let them know of his change of plan, of his intention of taking a holiday in the Lake District.

‘Of course,’ Grace confirmed instantly. ‘Timothy, don't do that with your potato, dear,’ she turned to scold gently.

Jordan watched her firm gentleness with the small boy, realising it was an occupation he could become fond of.

He must be getting senile!

Maybe he needed this holiday more than he had realised. He certainly was in a reflective mood today, for him.

But the food was good, even if the conversation did consist mainly of Timothy's questioning as to his opinion on one fast car after another. Never having owned any of the exclusive models the little boy mentioned, his opinion was an unlearned one, much to Timothy's obvious disgust. He could see by the end of the meal that he had fallen a couple of notches in the little boy's estimation.

Strangely, that mattered to him very much …

His experience with children was limited to his niece Diana, but, as she was only fifteen months old, and the admiration he felt for her was more than returned, it wasn't a very good example. Timothy, for all that he was only seven years old—another snippet of information he had given Jordan on that short drive out!—was an intelligent and discerning little boy. And, for reasons Jordan couldn't even begin to explain to himself, he wanted the two of them to get on together.

Although if he stayed on at Charlton House long, enjoying Grace's delicious cooking, he was going to put on weight!

Even at the leisure complex which Raff had made of his home, and which he and Rhea ran together, as a family they tended to eat in the hotel restaurant for convenience, and so it was months since Jordan had enjoyed the luxury of a home-cooked meal. Grace's chicken casserole had reminded him of just how good it could be.

‘The telephone is in the small room, next to the sitting-room, that I use as an office,’ Grace informed him as she stood up to clear away after the meal.

Jordan stood up too. ‘I'll help you do this first—–'

She was shaking her head even as he began to gather up the plates, firmly taking them from him. ‘You're a guest here, Mr—Jordan,’ she amended at his fierce look. ‘This is what you pay your rent for,’ she added dismissively.

And a very small amount it was too, he had learnt earlier. Jordan found it incredible to believe Grace could make any money at all from the small payment she asked for overnight accommodation and meals.

A house like this must have ten or twelve bedrooms already, and would benefit greatly by extension—could be worth a small gold-mine if it were renovated properly and run on a more businesslike basis.

His wandering thoughts had brought him back to the reason he had come to Charlton House at all. He and Raff, business partners in the luxury complex Raff had made of Quinlan House, had been searching around for another suitable house with grounds to make into a similar venture. His own personal assistant, given the task of seeking out such a property, had come up with Charlton House in the Lake District. Unfortunately, their advances to Grace Brown about selling the house to Quinlan Leisure, the name of the company Jordan and Raff ran the business under, had been rejected with a haste that had seemed pretty final. Not to be put off, Jordan had continued to correspond with Miss Grace Brown through his solicitors. She had remained adamant in her decision not to sell, which was when Jordan had decided to come up here himself to talk to her.

Taking on a false identity, which was sure to be misconstrued if discovered, seemed to have put an end to any negotiations he might have pursued in that direction himself. But for the moment he didn't care, felt more at peace with himself than he had for a long time. There was just Raff and Rhea's minds to put at rest and then he could forget about business completely for a while. Who knew? He might even start to enjoy life again. Now that would be a novelty!

‘If you're sure …’ he accepted politely, much more interested in going in search of the ‘office', he had to admit.

It wasn't so much an office as a private sitting-room, had the charm and neatness of Grace Brown stamped all over it. Not that the furniture or the décor in here were any more luxurious than in the room next door, because if anything the floral-covered sofa and armchair in here looked older than the furniture in the adjoining room. But they were clean, completely neat and tidy, as was the sideboard bearing several photographs, and the small dining-table Grace seemed to use as her desk, from the look of the neat piles of correspondence upon its surface. Jordan wouldn't be at all surprised if the half-dozen or so letters sent through his solicitor didn't sit among this number.

Sitting neatly in the middle of the table was the sought-after telephone. But it was to the sideboard bearing the photographs that Jordan went. There were several photographs of Tim, instantly recognisable, from babyhood up, and, next to these, formal photographs of a man with hair as bright a red as his two offspring—for this surely had to be Grace's father—and he was laughing down into the face of the woman who stood at his side, a woman with Grace's face and yet somehow different: her mother and father, Jordan knew without a doubt.